Chapter 4 - Diagon Alley

  4th of August 1971, London

  Sam and Dean stood together outside the Leaky Cauldron, anxiously waiting for the professor to show up.

  “What was her name again?” Dean asks, looking down at his watch, probably for the fifth time in the last two minutes.

  “Pomona Sprout,” Sam reminds him. The owl had come last night, reminding Sam to arrive on time. And it was a friendly reminder to let him know this was actually happening as well. Sam could hardly believe it was true most of the time. Even more shocking was how well his Dad had taken the news that Sam was a wizard. It was sort of a miracle, really, and when Sam had asked if they could go to London next, John said that’s where they were headed anyway, despite Dean telling Sam otherwise the night before. Hmm, Sam wonders what Dumbledore had done to their father, for him to be this supportive. Well, “supportive” was a stretch, but he wasn’t fighting it, at least.

  “What kinda name is that, anyway?” Dean mumbles. “Sprout…”

  “She teaches Herbology.”

  “What now?”

  “Herb- she’s like a gardening teacher,” Sam settles on.

  “Your gardening teacher is called Sprout?” Dean says in disbelief, brows shooting up. “Why do you need to learn about gardening?” he then adds incredulously, frowning at his little brother.

  “It’s for potion ingredients,” Sam retorts. “I think.”

  “Whatever.”

  They stand in silence for another five minutes. Ten. At precisely 10 am, a short and awfully round woman came out from, yeah from where exactly? She just sort of appeared, but Sam could tell this was Professor Sprout. She was a witch, alright, that was clear, by how she was dressed. She had a big hat tied down over her unruly hair, dirt on her nose (figures), and an oversized scarf hanging loosely on her shoulders. She was carrying a leather bag in one arm and a roll of parchment in the other. Her clothes were very old-fashioned, Sam thought, and very… green. Everything she wore was green; in fact, even her leather boots were dyed green.

  “Well, hello there, young man! You must be Samuel Winchester, yes?” she beams at him, holding out a hand for Sam to shake. He does.

  “Just Sam,” he says and immediately regrets correcting her. Why would he do that!?

  “And you’re Mr Winchester, I presume?” she says and turns to Dean, offering her hand for him to shake. Dean holds his own hands up in mock surrender.

  “Woah, I’m not his dad,” he says quickly, even taking a step back.

  “I know, you’re his brother, yes? Dean Winchester?”

  “... Yes.”

  “Hello Dean, nice to meet you as well.” They shake hands. Sam can’t help but smile. He likes her.

  “And where exactly is Mr John Winchester?” she asks, looking around, as if he’s hiding behind the boys somewhere.

  “He’s out of town, working a job,” Dean says simply.

  “I see. Well, this is a rather peculiar situation, isn’t it? Normally, we have a representative from our school hand deliver the letter to muggle-born wizards, but it seems the Quill thought you were a pureblood!” she tells Sam, as if this is supposed to mean something to him. “I take it you spoke to Albus last week then?”

  “Professor Dumbledore?”

  “Yes, that would be the one, dear.”

  “Yeah, he came by, showed me…” Sam looks around, and leans into Professor Sprout, who leans in closer to him as well. “... magic.”

  She nods solemnly.

  “Did you enjoy magic, then?” she asks, smiling kindly. Sam nods. “You know, Sam, you can do magic too. And where we’re going today, you’ll get to see a whole lot of magic!”

  Dean uncomfortably shifts his weight from one foot to the other, and clicks his tongue. His arms are crossed, face stern.

  “Will you be joining us, Mr Winchester?” she asks, gesturing behind herself, towards the bar. “Usually, we only allow the parents to come with their child to get school supplies, but since your situation is unique, we thought it best-”

  “Just call me Dean. And yeah, I ain’t leaving him,” Dean interrupts, and Sam dies a little bit on the inside, because why, oh why did Dean have to interrupt his professor, when she was kind enough to ask him if he’d like to see more magic? What he and Dumbledore had done a week prior in the motel room was still one of Sam’s fondest memories. He had tried to replicate it on its own, to little effect. He could get the leaf to float, and he managed to do the same with a straw, a water bottle cork, and a piece of paper, but not much else. Dean had encouraged him, cheered him on, but as it turns out, magic was hard work.

  “Alright, off we go then!” Professor Sprout said cheerily, leading on and swinging the door open to the Leaky Cauldron.

  *

  “Goddamn, this shit is heavy,” Dean hisses, almost buckling under the weight.

  “Don’t swear,” Sam scolds him, worriedly looking around for Professor Sprout. She’d told the boys she had to go get something for her venomous tentaculas, whatever that was, and had left Dean in charge. Not a great idea, Sam had thought, but he was happy for some alone time with his brother. This place was truly magical, and Sam was thrilled he got to experience it with Dean.

  “What’s next?” Dean asks, ducking down quickly, the screeching firework nearly hitting him in the forehead. “Jesus,” he mutters under his breath.

  “Uhhh..” Sam searches for the list in his pocket, pulling it out. He scans the list. They had already bought all the books listed, much to Dean’s dismay. To be fair, they were really freaking heavy! Much heavier than Sam’s fiction books. Still, their sheer size didn’t scare Sam, and he just could not wait to sink his teeth into them all. They had also picked up three sets of plain robes, one black winter coat, and one pointed hat (which Dean, of course, teased him about). Dean was wearing the hat now, and he looked absolutely ridiculous, but he insisted, jokingly saying that he, too, needed to look the part. To that, Sam had just rolled his eyes.

  Professor Sprout had generously gifted him a set of protective gloves, saying they were made of dragonhide, and that they would come in handy during her classes especially. They were the same shade of green as her boots. Sam was very thankful, even though they were kind of ugly. He supposed he did need them, and not having to buy them himself was also greatly appreciated. His Dad didn’t like Sam spending his “hard-earned money” on silly “magician stuff”. Dean hadn’t taken any of this, and spent multiple nights leading up to their trip to the Leaky Cauldron “hustling” for money. Sam had asked exactly how he’d gotten this much in such little time, but his brother had just winked at him, and said don’t worry about it, mate, and so Sam tried not to linger too long on it.

  “I need some stuff for potion class I think, like crystal phials, a brass scale, and-” Sam scrunches his nose. “A cauldron..”

  “What now?”

  “A cauldron?” Sam repeats. “It’s like a”

  “I know what a cauldron is, Sammy.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Where do we get that stuff, then?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his bag, wiping his brow. He was sweating. Sam feels bad, the books are his, and he should carry them.

  “I can take-”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it.” Dean assures him. He grabs the list from Sam. “Okay, so it’s just this left?” he points at the bottom of the list, where there are just a few more things left to get.

  “Yeah, and then a wand,” Sam says excitedly. That’s what he was mostly looking forwards too.

  “And a broom?”

  “First-years can’t have brooms,” Sam points out. “But we can look at them?”

  “Sure,” Dean says, licking his lips. Sam looks up at him, raising an eyebrow.

  “You good, mate?” Sam asks, bumping Dean’s shoulder with his own. They were nearly the same height, much to Dean’s despair. He was the big brother; he used to remind Sam.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he mumbles and then turns to Sam. “Says here you can bring a pet.”

  “It.. it does, yeah.”

  “Where would we get one?” Dean asks. Sam’s stomach does a somersault, and his cheeks hurt from smiling so wide.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really, now go off, find the magical zoo or whatever, and I’ll get these last things for ya,” he says, pushing Sam ahead. “Just wait for me there, yeah?”

  “Yeah, okay!” Sam is so excited he doesn’t know what to do with himself; he wiggles his fingers, bounces up and down on his heels, and starts looking around for.. well, a pet shop? Maybe? He’s not sure. Dean gives his hair a tussle, Sam swats his hand away, and then they part. Sam begins walking down the busy street and takes another moment just to be. The air is thick with magic, it smells.. familiar, he thinks, but he can’t quite place from where he knows it. He starts looking around; there’s shops for broomsticks, which he really wants to look at, but decides to wait for Dean to come back, so they can check it out together. There’s also a stationary shop, where they had gone in earlier to buy quills and an ink pot. Dean said they would pack pens for him too, because writing with a quill was for queers. Sam didn’t really see what was wrong with that, but he assumed Dean was right. He’d heard their Dad mention something similar before, when Sam’s hair had gotten too long. That had been a tough day, which ended in Sam getting a buzzcut and Dean with a bruised lip. Sam pushes the memory away as he makes his way further into Diagon Alley. There are lots of other younger kids here, too, around Sam’s age. It makes him giddy with excitement, but he’s much too shy to talk to anyone. That is until he bumps into someone, not at all paying attention to where he’s going.

  “Oh shit, sorry!” he bursts out and holds his hands up. A young, short boy with dirty blond hair looks up at him with furrowed brows.

  “Watch it, mate!” he exclaims angrily, fussing, wiping the “dirt” off his new robes.

  Stolen story; please report.

  “I’m really sorry, I was just-”

  “Not watching where you’re going?”

  “Yeah..”

  “Is okay,” he says finally, and starts laughing. “I’m not really upset,” he confesses, and Sam smiles, unsure.

  “You looking for someone?” he says, eyeing Sam’s clothes, and he suddenly feels very self conscious. He’s dressed like a muggle. His favorite sweatshirt, a pair of baggy jeans, and red converse with black and white laces.

  “Uh, not really, just-”

  “Are you here alone?” the boy asks, sounding amazed. “That’s sick! I can’t go anywhere without my parents; they’re kind of uptight.”

  “Right.” Sam feels awkward, sticking his hand into his pockets, not knowing what else to do with them.

  “So, you’re starting Hogwarts this term, too?” the boy asks, his freckled face genuinely curious and friendly. Sam sighs with relief.

  “Yeah, I’m a first-year,” he says, relaxing a bit, knowing this boy is sort of in the same shoes as him. However, he obviously has magical parents, unlike Sam. He wonders how that all works, but he hasn’t had the chance to ask anyone, and this stranger before him doesn’t seem like the right audience for such a question.

  “Sweet! I’m gonna be in Slytherin; what about you?” he asks, and Sam just blinks, not sure what to make of that question. “Oh.” The boy seems to realize Sam has no idea what he’s talking about. “That’s alright; you’re muggle-born, yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’ve never met someone with muggles for parents before..”

  “Well, I’ve never met someone with magical parents before, either,” Sam offers, which makes the boy laugh.

  “Well then,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’m-”

  “Evan!”

  A stern voice calls out, grabbing his outstretched hand. “Come here, this instance, do not speak to the mu-”

  The rest of the sentence gets drowned out by all the noise in the crowded street, and Sam remembers his mission. Pet store. He lifts his gaze and-

  Magical Menagerie.

  In the window, Sam can see graphics of owls, HUGE cats, and other creatures he’s never seen before. The window is also lined, top to bottom, with cages of all sizes. This must be the right place. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, hearing the bell announce his arrival. He cringes slightly, doesn’t really want to be seen much, especially in his .. his clothes. He bites his lip. This is his favorite hoodie, could he not take it with him? Did he have to wear weird wizard clothes forever now? Like the pointed hat? Oh no-

  “Hello there, young man! Welcome in!” Sam’s spiraling is interrupted by a shrill voice. He looks up to meet the eyes of a very.. colorful. Woman.

  “Uh, hi,” he says, taking a few more steps into the shop, looking around. There’s not much space, every inch of the walls were lined with cages, just like he’d seen from the outside of the shop. Inside some of them, there were animals, or- creatures, Sam wasn’t sure if they were technically animals, since he’s never seen these kinds of animals before. The animals he recognized were amongst others; owls, ravens, rats, gerbils, chinchillas, other rodents, ravens, cats; in all sorts of colors, not just the “regular” ones - there was even a purple cat which Sam thought was particularly pretty.

  “You here for a pet, sir?” the shopkeeper asks, wiping her hands on her apron. She’s got big, comically large, round glasses that make her eyes look ridiculously oversized, and her teeth remind Sam a bit of a bunny.

  “Yeah, or, I think so,” he offers, and meets her eye. “I’m not sure what though, I’ve never really… really had a pet.”

  “That’s alright! I will help you find the one who’s right for ya,” she assures him, arms wide, gesturing to the many animals around her. “There’s lots to choose from!”

  “I can see that,” Sam says, smiling too now.

  “Are you a firstie, sir?” she asks, hand rubbing behind the ear of a fat, black cat sitting on her desk.

  “Yeah, I am.” he answers, unsure where to put his hands, so he ends up just, keeping them straight down at his sides, fists clenched loosely.

  “Most students choose a cat, an owl or a toad. There’s of course other little critters you could go with, but those are the most usual ones,” she tells him, gesturing to different sections of the store containing the various animals she mentioned. “We also have magical creatures, but, seeing as you’re well..” she looks him up and down, and Sam suddenly feels uncomfortable. What was she about to say?

  “Since this is your first pet, and you’re a firstie, I suggest..” she looks up, tapping her chin with her index finger. “A toad!”

  Sam doesn’t mean to, but he grimaces. “Not a toad,” she says quickly, hands up, in mock defeat. She laughs heartily. “Not to worry! We’ll find something,” she assures him, and puts her hand back under the cat’s chin.

  “Yeah,” he replies lazily, looking at the cat, its eyes closed, purring loudly. He smiles.

  “A kitty cat, perhaps?” she asks, noticing him looking at the cat.

  “Uh,” Sam didn’t really mind cats, but he also didn’t really want one.

  “Hmm, maybe not,” she says, sensing his hesitation. “You got an owl already?”

  “Uh, no,” he admits. “This’ll be my uhm, my first pet, like I said,” he says, arms packed back in his pockets, his palms sweaty. He’d wished he could skip this interview and just pick a damn animal already, how hard could it be? Was this.. this interrogation - really necessary?

  “But your family, young sir?” she asks again, still petting the cat. Another one jumps up from behind the desk, and she starts petting that one with her other hand.

  “Uh, they’re..” Sam thinks, stopping himself. “No family owl.”

  “Well then! Perhaps you’d like a birdie then? Owls are great companions, and very useful too! They can carry letters, packages, deliver the news-” as if the owls could hear her, two of them started hooting. Sam looks in the direction the sound came from, and he spots three big owls, and one, very very tiny one. The shopkeeper stops petting the cats and moves over to the cages containing the owls.

  “I’ve got five owls in at the moment,” she says proudly. “This one’s a barn owl,” she points to the first one, a very regal looking bird, with a plain white, smooth face, and mostly brown and beige colored feathers. It blinked at Sam, then hooted unhappily and jumped further up on the perch in its cage. Sam winces. Not that one, then.

  “She’s a grumpy one, that one,” the shopkeeper confesses.

  Sam looks to the tiny one, probably the smallest owl he’s ever seen. “What about this one?”

  “Oh, isn’t he a cutie?” she fusses, opening up the cage, letting the little owl jump onto her finger. “He’s a Eurasian Scops Owl,” she says, scratching the little guy under his chin. “He’s entirely useless for carrying anything more than a note, I’m afraid.”

  Sam nods. Cute, but useless. Maybe he should look at the others too. The shopkeeper carefully lets the owl hop onto her shoulder, where he promptly cuddles up to her neck and falls asleep. Sam has to smile at that. “Yeah, he’s a sweetheart, really,” she tells him, leaning into the little creature. “I think he’ll have to be mine, actually, he’s imprinted, the poor thing.”

  Sam doesn’t question it, just watches as she points to the next owl. This one is white and black, with big yellow, curious eyes. Its feathers look very soft, and Sam feels a strong urge to reach out and pet it. He doesn’t.

  “This is a snowy owl, very pretty, isn’t she?” she asks him. Sam nods. The owl doesn’t even look in his direction, she’s tutting towards the owl next to her cage, a big one, with .. with ears? Owls have ears? Sam’s jaw falls open, because this surely must be the coolest looking owl he’s ever seen.

  “You like that one?” the shopkeeper asks, pointing at the silly-looking bird. She leans over, opening the cage, leaving the door open. The owl, which had a permanent expression of genuine shock, which Sam thought was hilarious, had blackish vertical streaks throughout its brown coat. Its belly was a tawny sort of color, and the ears, which was Sam’s favorite part, he thinks, were brown, with white on the edges. The wings, too, seemed to have some white on them.

  “This one’s a Long Eared owl,” the shopkeeper begins, digging through her pockets. “Or, more commonly referred to as a cat owl.”

  “A cat owl?” Sam asks, not taking his eyes off the owl. The shopkeep taps him on the shoulder, and he has to rip his gaze from the animal. She hands him a little pellet, about the size of a grape, shaped in the form of a dogbone. Sam takes it, and the owl takes a cautious little “hop” forward, bowing his head down to reach out through the open cagedoor.

  “Go on, offer it to him, he won’t bite,” she says. Sam looks at her and is met with a genuine smile and encouraging eyes. He swallows and looks back to the owl. Okay, he can do this. It’s just a bird, he reminds himself. He holds his palm open, places the treat in the middle of it, and holds his hand forward, offering it to the bird. The owl looks at the treat, then up at him, and for a moment, it feels like something clicks into place in Sam. He smiles, reassuringly, like the shopkeeper had done to him, and he nods to the owl, cocking his head towards the treat. The owl carefully leans forward, and slowly, so slowly, it takes the treat, very cautiously. It chews quickly, then swallows and hoots happily at Sam, doing what can only be described as a little happy dance, to show its appreciation for the treat.

  “Wonderful!” the shopkeeper exclaims and claps her hands together happily. “This is the one, I think. Go on, offer your arm to him!”

  Sam very cautiously does precisely that, he bends down slightly, making his hand into a fist, and offers the bird his forearm as a perch. It looks at him, blinks, and then it hops onto his arm. It hurts a little bit, its little claws dig into the sweater, and Sam is happy now that he didn’t show up in just a t-shirt. He beams at the owl, who turns its head sideways and looks at Sam. Sam mimics him, tilting his head too, in the same way, and the owl tilts its head again. Sam tries to do the same, but isn’t able to twist it as far as the bird, so instead he starts laughing, which the owl, to his surprise, does too. What? Or well, it can’t exactly be called a laughter, but it hoots happily and gently flaps its wings, clearly to express feelings of content. Sam gently holds up a hand behind its head, offering to scratch the owl. It leans into his touch, closing its eyes, enjoying the head scritches immensely.

  “I want this one,” Sam tells the shopkeeper.

  “And so he shall be yours,” she tells him and coos at the owl. The owl promptly ignores her; it is entirely too busy getting pets from its new boy.

  “Long Eared owls, or cat owls, as mentioned, are considered a medium sized owl. You can feed him treats like these,” she holds up another bone shaped owl treat, and the smell must entice it, because Sam’s owl- SAM’S OWL, turns it head and happily accepts the treat. “But mostly, he will find his own food. Cat owls are excellent hunters,” she brags on behalf of the owl, and it hoots happily, as if understanding her every word. And who knows, maybe it does understand her.

  “His species is nocturnal, so don’t be alarmed if he sleeps a lot, that’s completely normal. You should let him out every day, and again, don’t be alarmed if he doesn’t return for a few days. But I suggest you keep building your bond in the week coming up, so he gets used to your scent, and imprints on you. It is harder since he’s no longer a hatchling, but with some treats and a lot of patience, you’ll do just fine,” she winks at him.

  “What if he doesn’t want to bond?” Sam asks her. She raises an eyebrow, then gestures to the owl, who is nearly melting into Sam’s touch, rubbing against his hand.

  “I don’t think that will be a problem,” she assures him.

  “What else do I need to know?” he asks, determined to take very good care of his owl. His owl. He couldn’t wait for Dean to get here. He hoped he’d let him get this owl and not be stuck with some stupid toad.

  “Well, seeing as you’re petting him by the ‘ear’, I should probably tell you that it’s not his ear at all,” she says, trying to suppress her laughter. Sam stops immediately, much to the owl’s dismay. It nips at Sam, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough he begins scratching behind its ear- uh, its-

  “Not his ear?” Sam asks.

  “It’s just feather tufts, but it looks suuuper cute, doesn’t it?” she fawns over the owl again, stroking its beak very gently. The owl seems to really like that. Sam takes a mental note of that.

  “So yes, you’ll need a cage, some owl treats,” she grabs a bag from behind the counter. “This one’ll be on the house, I can tell you two will become great friends, and that makes an old magizoologist’s heart happy, very happy indeed!” She hands Sam the bag of treats, and he promptly stuffs it in his front hoodie pocket.

  “Thanks!” he says, and means it, genuinely. This lady has been awfully kind to him so far. She gently puts a hand under the arm the owl is sitting on, and guides Sam to move the owl over to his shoulder. The owl understands and catches on very quickly, and hops over to sit on his shoulder. It leans into him, rubbing its face on the side of Sam’s hair. The soft feathers tickle him.

  “Owls are magnificent creatures, and very loyal. You’ve got a lifelong friend here, my boy,” she says. “Would you like to buy the standard owl care package?”

  “Uh, how much is that?” Sam asks and braces himself.

  “This guy on his own is 15 galleons, and then the cage and other supplies you’ll need is another 8. But I’ll let you have it all for 20, how does that sound?” she tells him, and she might as well have spoken Greek to him. At the beginning of their outing, Professor Sprout had taken him and Dean to Gringotts, the Wizarding bank apparently, and there, they opened up a new account for the Winchesters. If Sam’s honest, he didn’t really pay much attention and let Dean deal with it all. They’d exchanged the money Dean had brought, and gone on with their shopping. Sam was so excited, and so was Dean, much to Sam’s delight. He was worried Dean wouldn’t take too well to all the magic, or even worse, what if he’d have been jealous? They hadn’t really talked about that yet, what it meant for Sam to be a wizard while Dean wasn’t. Sam dreaded the upcoming talk he knew they needed to have, but for now, he tried to focus on the wonderful owl sitting, no, sleeping on his shoulder. He smiled at the shopkeeper.

  “Yeah, that should be fine; my brother will be here any minute,” he assures her and walks up to the front counter. The shopkeeper nods eagerly and goes to the back to choose a cage for him. She also brought out a little leather bag, where Sam could see a brush handle stick out of, amongst other things. He was beginning to get a bit worried, and hoped Dean would find him soon, or else it’d be very awkward to have to leave the owl behind. Just as the shopkeeper sets the shiny new cage down, the door opens, the bell jingles and Dean comes in. Sam whips around, and Dean’s eyes go wide as he spots the owl.

  “You chose a pigeon?!” Dean exclaims incredulously, pointing at the owl. Sam sighs, palm to his face.

  “Deeeean…”

  “I’m just messing with you, mate,” he says, punching his brother in the shoulder. The owl hoots, but it’s more of a huff, as if to tell Dean off. “Well hello to you too, birdie,” Dean tells it, one brow raised. He pays the shopkeeper, lifts the cage off the counter and they head out. Sam almost forgot to pick up the owl bag but remembers just before the door closes and grabs it, with an apologetic look on his face.

  “Thanks so much,” he tells the shopkeeper and hurries after his brother.